I guess I'll never know
by Good old fashioned lover girl
Summary: Set in 1963. John Lennon watches Paul McCartney playing the guitar through a glass, thinking how love he has for the younger man. George encourages him to tell Paul what he really feels. But, will he have the courage to express his feelings? Can be considered as pre-slash. Maybe I'll turn it into a two-shot.


_**John Lennon POV**_

He's standing there, strumming his guitar. I can observe his talented fingers moving rhythmically creating a melody I haven't heard before. He's so focused in his music that nothing can interrupt his concentration. He closes his eyes to inhale deep breath and smiles slightly, deeply feeling what he's playing, showing his passionate love for music.

Paul McCartney was absolutely born for creating music. Notes and rhythm words come to his head so easy, making him want to compose more and better every time. I analyze his movements, how he smiles, looks tenderly his guitar, smirks, and smiles again.

His hair is perfectly combed, looking great, the way he likes it. I love how he never gets out the house if he's not looking the way he wants, although Paul always looks beautiful no matter what. His cuteness is something way beyond compare. His baby skin is the softest thing to touch. I sometimes wonder how would it feel to touch his skin deeper, to be as close as possible to him, to feel his lips meeting mines, tasting everything I can. I'm sure Paul McCartney tastes _very _good. Why are all these thoughts invading my mind? _He's your best friend, Lennon. _I cannot just fantasize about making love to my best friend. _Best friends; that's the farthest we'll ever be. _But why he's present in all my thoughts? Why can't I stop staring at him all the time? It's like my eyes can't look to another direction; always glued on him, and those moments when he stares back, I feel something strange in my stomach. Have I really fall in love with James Paul McCartney? It's not hard to fall in love with a lad like him. He's the definition of perfection, at least in my eyes. _Admit it, John Winston, you're a bloody queer. _I'm a fucking queer observing my best friend through a glass.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder that made me jump because of the impact. I turned around to see the owner of the hand, and saw George Harrison's face.

"Fantasizing 'bout McCartney again, huh Lennon?" asked George chuckling.

Shit. How da hell does he knows? Am I _that _obvious?

"What the bloody hell are you talking 'bout?" I blushed and trembled of embarrassment.

"Oh c'mon, you're staring creepily at him…_again._"

I tried to excuse myself, but apparently that didn't work. "I just like to hear him play, m'kay?"

"Right… You should tell him, y'know."

"Tell him what?"

"Your feelings. I'm sure he's queer too."

"I'm NOT queer." I shoot back, remarking the _NO._

He teased, and repeatedly affirmed, "You're in love with Paul… You're in love with Paul… You're in love with Paul…"

"Shhh…!" I shut his mouth. "He may hear you, idiot!"

"Don't worry, silly. He can't hear anything because of the glass. Besides, he's too focused playing." George pointed, calming me down.

"Alright…"

"But really, you should tell him." He insisted.

I confessed, lowering my voice, "I don't want to be rejected."

"It's obvious he's queer, John! Are you fucking blind?"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Don't you realize how much time he spends in the bathroom? That's not normal for a straight lad."

We both burst out laughing.

"He just cares about his appearance. That's all." I said in reply.

"And he applies all these lotion, creams… and weird things…"

"That doesn't mean he's queer."

"But can't you see how he giggles and blushes when he's with you?"

"I'm going to say it again, George: that doesn't mean anything."

"Fuck it, Lennon! You've got to take the risk."

"Are you bloody crazy? What the hell am I going to say? '_Hey Paul, are you queer? Because I am!_'"

"Are you going to keep it inside yourself forever? That's going to end up killing you!"

"He has a bloody girlfriend! I don't want to be embarrassed as the gay lad that declared his best friend and got rejected."

George kept insisting, convincing me to confess Paul my utter feelings. "And what if he doesn't reject you? You two would be happy together instead of secretly wishing to fuck each other. And don't worry 'bout Jane, we all know Paul can't stand her."

"I don't know, George…"

"You'll regret it if you don't do it."

"Or maybe regret it awfully wanting to die if I do and get rejected."

"You know what? Do whatever you want. Keep fucking girls imagining Paul and see if you can be happy with it. You're impossible!" as George said that, he went away and left me alone.

Should I confess my love to beautiful Paul? What's the worst thing that can happen? Well, only getting rejected and brokenhearted… Or finally kissing those soft lips I can't stop staring at.

Some big part of me was telling me not to do it, but then I moved my eyes and gazed directly at him, watching again how peacefully he looks playing music, how every movement he does look so neat and perfect.

I don't want to interrupt his concentration; I would feel like an inspiration-killer, so I'll just wait and keep eyeing and watching him lovingly.

My Paul, my angel, my whole life. I could watch him every single day without getting bored. How can someone get bored of Paulie?

I can't stand it anymore; I'll open the door and face him. I'll finally declare him my love.

I opened the door powerfully, making Paul lose the concentration of what he was playing.

He pronounced, smiling slightly, "John?"

"I need to tell you something." I firmly said, searching for the right words in my head.

And that's when the fear invaded me. A fear of rejection, of losing everything and regretting it for my lifetime. I didn't have the guts to say anything; just watching him there reminded me how I could make our friendship something really awkward if I mess it up.

He worriedly asked, "What is it, John?"

I forced a smile, and weakly let out, "Err, what you were playing sounded really good."

"Come and join me!"

"I'd love to… But I-I've got some stuff to do, y'know…"

As I said that, I opened the door to get out and ran. I escaped like the coward I am and locked in a room to cry. How can I be so self-secure about so many things but can't face Paul to tell him my feelings?

Is Paul McCartney in love with me? I guess I'll never know.

**_A/N So, what do you think?_**

**_I don't know if I'll write a sequel._**

**_Disclaimer: I (sadly) don't own The Beatles._**


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